


Dear Diary, Love Sam Winchester

by kissmetommy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bottom Sam, Dean is In Over His Head, Eventual Smut, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sam Winchester, Gay Sex, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Masturbation, POV Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Stanford Era, Top Dean, Young Sam Winchester, cannon soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmetommy/pseuds/kissmetommy
Summary: Dear diary,Lately I have been thinking about my brother in a different way. I have been thinking about his arms and his legs and what is hidden beneath his flannels. I have been constantly wondering how he is, and whenever we are apart at school all I want is to be with him. On the weekends, I try to stay as close to him as I possibly can. I just can't get enough of him, I can't get enough of the way he makes me feel. He makes my heart race and my face ache from smiling all the time. I think that I am getting on his nerves. I don't think that he wants to be around me anymore. I have tried to back off and give him some space but I just can't be without him, because without Dean Winchester I can't breathe.-Sam Winchester, 1996





	1. Chapter 1

Dear diary, 

Lately I have been thinking about my brother in a different way. I have been thinking about his arms and his legs and what is hidden beneath his flannels. I have been constantly wondering how he is, and whenever we are apart at school all I want is to be with him. On the weekends, I try to stay as close to him as I possibly can. I just can't get enough of him, I can't get enough of the way he makes me feel. He makes my heart race and my face ache from smiling all the time. I think that I am getting on his nerves. I don't think that he wants to be around me anymore. I have tried to back off and give him some space but I just can't be without him, because without Dean Winchester I can't breathe. 

-Sam Winchester, 1996

Dear diary journal, 

I am in love with Dean Winchester. I am in love with the way he speaks like the wind, soft and forgiving and forever changing. I love the way he walks like he is in charge of everything and owns the entire world. I want him to own me. I am in love with the way he holds me, whenever I am upset or hurt, which is often. I love the way he looks at me like he is seeing something that only he can see, like I am his little secret. I love the way he makes me smile, no matter what mood I am he can always make me laugh. I love the way he makes me feel, how my heart pounds in my chest and my arms and legs feel like jelly. How he makes my stomach flip and how whenever he touches me I want to melt. I am in love with Dean Winchester and I don’t care who knows it. Or maybe I do. 

-Sam Winchester, 1997.

Dear journal, 

I have come to terms with the fact that I have to get away from Dean. I can't focus, I can't think, I can't breathe when I am around him. I have to think about every little thing I do so I don't come off as a creep. Whenever he touches me now, I flinch away and I try to ignore it but I can see the hurt look on his face. He knows something is up with me, he probably thinks I hate him and that it’s all his fault. He always thinks things are his fault when in reality it's always mine. Dad keeps asking both of us why we don't have girlfriends, I keep quite during these conversations while Dean goes off ranting about how neither of us could ever have girlfriends because we move around a lot. I just don't want one. If I can't have Dean, I don't want anyone. I miss the way things used to be, more than anyone could ever know. 

-Sam Winchester, 1998. 

 

Dear journal, 

I am completely and utterly lost. I thought that I could handle this. I thought that I knew what I was doing. I thought that I could handle being in love with my fucking brother. But all I can think when I look at him is how much I want to kiss his lips, how much I want to touch his body and feel his skin against mine. How much I want him to whisper things in my ear as he pounds into me roughly and grips onto my skin. So yeah, I am completely and utterly lost. It’s been three years since I started having these feelings, three years and all I want to do is die. 

-Sam, 1999. 

Hey, 

This will be the last time I write in this journal. You see, I'm going off to Stanford in a few days. I’m really doing this. I am leaving my family and leaving Dean. I am leaving life as I know it to go to some place where people smoke weed all day and throw frisbees around in the grass. I am leaving this life, the life I have with my brother, for that life. To be honest, I'm scared. I'm scared that this is all a huge mistake and that when I try to come home, no one will be there for me. I am scared that Dean won't ever talk to me again, I am scared that Dad will hate me. I am so scared. But I do know that this is the only way. I can't stay here and think the things I think. It’ll drive me crazy. So, goodbye. 

-Sam Winchester, 2001.

Three Years Later - October 2nd 2004

Dean looks down at the notebook in his hands, Sam’s name scrawled on the front with neat handwriting. According to the dates written in the journal, Sam got this when he was thirteen when Dean was seventeen. As Dean reads the words over and over again he thinks about the signs, he thinks about all the times Sam flinched away from his touch, all the times Dean had caught his little brother staring at him for a second too long. Dean’s heart sinks dangerously low in his chest, his rib cage feeling as if it is about to explode. His eyes flicker between the sentences and the paragraphs, he reads the whole notebook until he feels like he is going to be sick. All this time, all this time and he never realized that this was going on. How could he have been so oblivious? How could he have not realized that his little brother, his little Sammy, was harboring feelings for him? Dean feels guilt wrench at his stomach, this is his fault after all. He must have said something to lead Sam on, something to plant a message in Sam’s mind that this all could possibly be okay. 

 

He puts the notebook down on his bed. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling. Thoughts travel through his head like wildfire. Memories of Sam as a little kid, as a preteen, and finally, as a teenager, run miles around his skull. It is as if everything he had suppressed suddenly came rushing back at once and it leaves Dean gasping for air, clutching at his chest.

 

His eyesight blurs, the world is spinning, and everything seem so out of perspective. Dean feels himself slipping, and he tries to grasp onto the side of the bed but finds his hands clutching at emptiness. He falls onto the hard, cold, wooden floor, bumping the side of his head on the ground. Spots dance on the inside of his eyelids and he wonders if this is what dying feels like. Dean reaches out one more time before his arms fall limply at his side, and his body goes slack. 

 

Dean wakes up hours later, the sun had set and he can hear people talking outside the window. His head hurts, and his back is sore from lying on the floor for so long. He sits up slowly, looking around at the empty motel. There’s a full bottle of beer sitting on the table, he had grabbed it from the fridge, moments before he had found the journal hidden under one of the floorboards. He hadn’t even remembered that they had stayed here before, certainly not the day that Sam left. But he remembers now, he remembers and he wishes he could forget. Dean wishes to forget the pain he felt as he saw Sam walking out of that door, how tears had made caverns in his cheeks. 

 

How after Sam had gotten into the cab and sped down the street, Dean had made himself into a ball and cried on the floor for hours. The same floor that he now stands on, hands reaching towards the window sill to hold himself sturdy. Dean looks out the window, the shadows dance on the sidewalk, reminding him of the chalk drawings that he used to draw with Sam. He remembers how they used to decorate the sidewalks and streets that surrounded the motels they stayed in. The pictures that they drew wouldn't be pretty, wouldn't be of things that children would usually draw. Like, flowers, hearts, rainbows, or smiley faces. Instead, they drew intricate drawings of monsters and vampires. No one knew but from the nightly practice of drawing the sketches, both of them gained a lot of skill and in time became great artists. Sam was more outward about it, he drew on himself with a sharpie and talked about getting tattoos that he would design himself. Dean kept it a secret and only drew when he thought no one was looking or deep into the night. Sam’s journal enclosed small sketches of monsters, and as Dean’s fingers flipped through the pages he found a younger version of his own face staring back at him. There were about ten, twenty, pages dedicated to drawings of Dean. Some of them were of the two of them together, nothing weird, they were all innocent and based off of good memories. Again, as if brought back to that night three years ago, tears brim in Dean’s eyes. His head aches, and he presses his fingers against his temples and pushes, hard. Throwing the book back onto the floor, he looks away. He can't face the drawings of the two of them being happy. He can't face it when they haven't even talked for years. Dean stumbles towards the table and grabs at the room temperature beer that sits there, a puddle surrounds it, the condensation melted off while he had been out. His phone rings in his pocket, sending his head into a whirlwind of pain, it vibrates against his leg, and he blindly clutches at it with his free hand. The screen is bright, and it takes him a moment before his eyes focus and his mind processes the name on the screen. It’s Sam. Dean shakes his head, chuckling slightly, because, come on, this has to be some kind of prank. Sam snuck into the motel and put the notebook there, he’s gone through a huge amount of trouble just to prank Dean before. The phone vibrates again, reminding Dean that he has to make a decision. Before he can change his mind he hits the green, answer button and holds his breath, bringing the phone up to his ear. 

 

Dean doesn’t smoke, he’s not addicted to anything but the feeling of when the alcohol seeps into his veins and his mind numbs. But right now all he wants to do is grab the pack of unopened Marlboro's in the bedside table drawer and light one up. He doesn't. Dean can hear Sam’s unheavy breathing from the other end of the line. Dean can imagine Sam sitting alone in a dorm room, legs crossed, sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard. Dean wonders what Sam looks like now, how long his hair has grown and remembers how soft it is, how it felt to run his fingers through it. He wonders if Sam’s voice has changed if it’s gotten lower with the weight of time. 

 

“Dean.” Sam speaks after a few seconds of complete silence. Dean’s breath hitches and he finds himself gasping for air the second time that night. Sam’s voice is lower, almost unrecognizable. Dean doesn't say anything. He wonders if Sam knows that he knows. Dean can hear something going on, on the other side.

 

“Dean?” Sam says again after what seems like hours. Sam’s bed creaks, there’s a sound of an empty bottle being set onto a hard surface. Someone coughs. Someone’s there with him, someone’s with Sam in a dorm room. Is it Sam’s dorm? Or is he in someone else’s? Pain shoots through Dean’s head and he almost drops the phone. 

 

“Can you hear me? Are you there?” His little brother questions, sounding desperate, sounding scared. It’s then that Dean decides to pretend that he never found the journal, to pretend that he has no idea that Sam used to, or still harbors feelings for him. Dean clears his throat, 

 

“Sorry, yes. I can hear you. What’s up little bro? Why are you calling? Is something wrong?” It all comes out too fast, words jumbled into misshapen paragraphs and sentences. Sam takes a deep breath, the unknown person coughs again. 

 

“No, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to call. I thought that maybe I could come visit you for a while.” Sam spits out, there’s a nervous tint to his voice, a tremor. 

 

“Are you sure nothing is wrong? You haven't called in three years.” Dean reminds him as if Sam could possibly forget ignoring his family. Dean downs the last bit of his room temperature beer and walks to the fridge, holding onto various objects to keep himself from falling again. 

 

“I’m sorry, I've been busy. A lot has happened, just for a week or two. Please?” Sam sounds like he’s avoiding something, like there's something he doesn't want to talk about, but has to. He sounded like this when he first talked to Dean about leaving. Now he’s leaving again, but this time he’s leaving and coming back to Dean, not the other way around. Dean opens the fridge and grabs another beer, cold this time. 

 

“I’m not with dad, we’ve been going on separate hunts lately.” Dean tells him, opening the beer and discarding the cap on the floor, right next to the other three. 

 

“What happened? Did you get into a fight?” Sam questions, his bed creaks again and Dean hears a door close. Dean sits down, then props his feet up on the dining room table. He takes a deep breath. 

 

“No. Nothing like that. We are just more independent. Fewer distractions when you are alone.” Dean tries to leave a hint about being alone when he says that, but either Sam doesn't realize or he ignores it. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called Dean.” 

“Are you with someone?” Dean avoids Sam’s apology and asks what he’s really been wondering this whole time. 

“I was, my friend was here. She’s gone.” Dean can hear the sound of Sam sucking in a breath, Dean takes a sip of his beer. 

“Friend? Or…” He asks his headaches. 

“We’ll talk about that when I come home.” Sam says, laughing slightly. Dean wishes that he could see Sam’s face right this moment, wishes he could see his expression and his eyes. 

“Hold on, I didn’t say you could come.” But they both know that Dean has already given in, they both know that Dean would do anything for his little brother. 

“Please.” Sam says one more time, for good measure. 

“Fine, but I am not picking you up. I’ll send you directions and you’ll have to find your own way here.” Dean exclaims before hanging up, his shaking hands quickly text Sam the directions before turning off his phone completely. He has half the mind to throw it across the room, pack up his stuff and escape from the motel before Sam gets here. But of course, he doesn't, because Dean is a good older brother, and he wouldn't do anything to hurt his Sammy. 

Dean finishes his fourth beer of the night and decides to retire to bed. First, he hides the journal under the same floor board where he found it, making sure that it doesn't stick up in any way and isn't obvious. Sitting down on his bed, he curls up into a ball. Dean’s head still pounds and his entire body aches. He didn't think this through. He didn't think about the fact that they would be sleeping in the same room for god knows how long in the same motel that Sam had left him in. Three years ago Dean watched that door close behind Sam, and then he didn't see him again or hear from him until moments ago, in the same motel. Dean doesn't think about how odd this all is, he tries not to think about Sam at all as he lies back, holding his arms across his chest and closes his eyes. 

As Dean slips into consciousness he quickly becomes aware of two things. One, his head hurts about a thousand times more than it did when he went to sleep, and two, someone was standing over his bed, watching him sleep. He squinted, trying to make out the blurry figure stooping next to his bed. Dean can barely see as he turns over onto his back, groaning as his head fills with pain for a split second. 

“Dean?” A voice protrudes from the figure, the voice is deep and scruff as if their lungs were full of smoke. They take a step forward, getting closer. 

“Sam?” Dean guesses, grabbing at his head as he tries to sit up. The figure rushes to his side, placing a large hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t sit up Dean. Did you hit your head?” The voice asks again, but this time he knows that it’s Sam, he knows that it’s his brother. 

“Last night, I fell.” Dean tries to explain, grasping at words as they slide out of his mouth. 

“Dude, you need to lay off the drinking.” Sam says, keeping his hand on Dean’s shoulder. His hair is long, brushed and looks really, really soft. 

“No, I'm fine I have it under control.” Dean says, shrugging his hand off of his shoulder and wrapping the blankets around himself. 

‘You hurt yourself, that doesn't seem like control to me.” Sam tells him, looking down at his own hands, which are now in his lap. He seems different.

“You don't need to take care of me Sammy, I am the older brother.” Dean points out, he slowly sits up, his face scrunching up in pain and leans against the wall. 

“That doesn't mean I can't care for you.” Sam says, his eyebrows raised. 

“Right. Just stop.” 

“Okay. Okay.” He says, holding his hands above his head. A moment of silence passes between them. Sam clears his throat. 

“Have you picked up smoking?” Dean asks Sam and watches as Sam’s eyes widen and he slouches slightly. 

“How did you figure that out?” Sam asks, pulling out a pack of Marlboro's from his shirt pocket and setting them down on the bed. 

“I can just tell.” He replies, picking them up and reading the name on the package, his eyes ache and so does his head. Everything hurts, but just a little less now that he is back with his brother again. 

“You’ve always been good at reading people.” Sam says, looking at Dean now. 

“No, I'm just good at reading you.” Dean laughs, letting a smile creep onto his face for the first time in the past few days. 

“Always have been.” Sam smiles. 

“You’re also just a horrible liar, which is why I knew something was wrong when you called me.” Dean’s headache fades slightly, and he smiles. Something about Sam’s presence has made him feel good again, and he hasn’t for awhile. 

“It’s nothing big.” He shrugs, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Tell me.” Dean eggs him on, probably as nervous about what his brother has to say as Sam. What if he says something about the journal?

“Don’t freak out.” Sam says as if anything Sam could ever say would drive Dean away from him. 

“I am not going to freak out.” Dean reassures him. 

“Okay. I think that, well I think-” 

“Hurry up Sammy.” Dean interjects, his heart impatiently beating in his chest. Thoughts run miles in his head, he gulps. He’s sweating. 

“I like boys.” Sam whispers as if he’s scared anyone will hear. Dean takes a moment, thinking about the appropriate way to respond, one that made it sound like his head wasn't starting to hurt again, but this time, a different hurt. One that didn't make it obvious that his heart was in his stomach and his hands were shaking. 

“Well, obviously.” He decides on saying, laughing deeply and trying to maintain eye contact with his little brother. Something was wrong with Dean. Something was wrong deeply wrong with him and he didn't know what. 

“Obviously? What do you mean obviously?” Sam asks, beginning to sound offended like Dean had said something wrong, something suspicious. Dean’s heart rate speeds up. A beat of silence passes between them. 

“Dude, I have known since you were fifteen.” He tries to take a hold of the situation, tries to get it back into his grasp, into his control. 

“How? I never, I didn't even know.” Sam asks another question, a question that Dean needs to find an answer to quickly. He searches his memories, finding a few things that he now realizes could have suggested this. 

“You never brought any girls home and all you wanted to do was watch Tom Cruise movies.” He laughs, but it comes out too sharp and too awkward, he prays that Sam doesn't notice. 

“Everyone is attracted to Tom Cruise.” Sam tries to justify, fails, and then returns Dean’s laugh with his own, a beautiful, melodious sound. 

“Maybe. But you were in love,” Dean’s getting ahold of this now, he’s figuring out what to say within seconds and his heart is slowing down to close to normal.

“I wouldn't say it was love.” Sam tells him as he stands up from the bed, moving around the room slowly, hesitantly. 

“It was close.” Dean watches the way his brother circles the room, hands gripped tightly together, hair almost touching his shoulders. Simply, perfect. 

“Whatever, so now you have it confirmed.” Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Thanks for telling me. Do you like girls too or just boys?” Sam turns to face him, a look of confusion resting on his face. Dean looks at him, waiting. 

“I’m not sure, i’ve been attracted to girls and all but, never romantically.” He explains, a look flickers across his face, something that Dean can’t read this time. 

“Maybe you’re Heterosexual and Homoromantic.” Dean suggests, forgetting that this information was stored inside his brain, it’s been a long time since he’s thought about it. Sam looks at him with a ‘what the fuck’ face and sits down on the other bed. 

“What the hell? How do you know so much about that shit?” Sam asks, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, intrigued. 

“It’s been awhile since I last saw you, little bro, I have made new friends, some of those know shit like that.” The last thing Dean wants to talk about is Charlie, but if he wants this to sound like an effortless conversation, he has to. 

“Like who?” Sam asks the inevitable question. 

Dean answers, “I had a friend, her name was Charlie. She was gay and very educated in those kinds of terms. She made it her mission to shove them all into my head.” Dean looks over at the wall, then at his hands. 

“Had?” Another inevitable question. 

“She isn’t dead or anything, I just moved away and focused on hunts in other areas. I haven't talked to her for a few months.” Dean lies. His first lie of the night and it leaves him feeling dirty and horrible. His stomach aches. His head hurts. 

“Well thank god for her.” Sam says, smiling as if he knows something. Maybe he does, and if he does Dean wants to know. He needs to know. 

“Yeah, thank god.” Dean responds, nodding and leaning his head back against the wall, silently praying that Sam will leave and he’ll be able to think things over. 

“I’m going to go out and get us some food, how about you wash up and get dressed.” It’s like Sam reads his mind, that he knows what he wants. It’s the truth, Sam knows him in a way that no one else does, a way no one will ever know him. And to be honest, that’s the way Dean likes it. 

“You’re too good to me Sammy.” Dean smiles, beginning to pull the covers off of this body and stand. Sam stays sitting and watches him. Raising his eyebrows, Dean stares right back at him.


	2. An Awkward Encounter.

Two Days Later - October 4th, 2004 [9:00am]

Sam seems kinder, softer, open. Or maybe he’s just different than when he was around dad. Dad always brought out of rough, closed side of him. Dad wasn’t bad, he stayed close, but not too close. He cared just enough to get them by, and that was perfect for Dean, just not Sam. Sam would have flourished better with a more nurturing approach. A hug everyone now and then, a dad who showed to sports games and recitals. Dad wasn’t a bad dad perse, he cared enough to make us chicken noodle soup when we were sick and sometimes even sang to us when we were young and couldn’t sleep. He was good sometimes, and sometimes he wasn't, like all parents. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice appears from behind him, light. Dean turns to see Sam standing, Dean’s jacket wrapped around his tall body. Dean decides not to say anything. 

“Yeah?” He responds, leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of copy clutched in his hand. Sam smiles, which takes Dean back to when they were young when they were close, almost too close for other people’s comfort. 

“Are you staying out in today or going out?” Dean takes a sip of the scalding coffee, burning his tongue and back of his throat. He swears under his breath. 

“Staying in. You?” Dean asks when he has recovered from the hot liquid scorching his insides. Sam stifles a laugh. 

“I’ll stay in, I just have to go grab some food.” Sam says, trying not to smile at the look on Dean’s face as he sets the cup of coffee onto the counter. Dean notices how cute he is. It scares him. 

“Okay. See you.” Dean manages to spit out awkwardly. Sam waves as he exits the motel, keys in hand. Dean doesn’t even remember to yell at him for using the Impala. He just spills out his coffee in the sink and makes his way over to the TV. A sitcom is playing when he presses the on button and it throws him back to a time when he would sit on a couch very similar to this one with Sam. Sam’s legs would be thrown over Dean’s lap, his head resting on the other side of the couch, his small, thin hands wrapped around a coke can. Dean’s wrapped around a beer. 

Dean glances at the clock, 9:37 am. Sam has been gone for almost forty minutes. As if again, Sam and Dean have some unusual special connection, Sam comes barging in the front door. He’s holding two grocery bags, one in each hand. He empties them and puts things in the small cabinets and fridge. No words pass between them as Sam grabs a beer and sits down on the empty space on the couch. 

The episode ends and not one word has exited Dean’s mouth. Sam is the first to speak. “I’m glad I’m here, you should know that.” He whispers, reaching out and resting a now bigger hand on Dean’s ankle, the only thing he can reach. Dean moves his legs so he is sitting up as if inviting Sam to relive those moments from years ago. Sam notices, and Dean doesn’t even care that Sam might be in love with him or that he used to. He doesn’t care because when Sam puts his legs onto Dean’s lap, all he feels is happiness. Sam smiles. Dean smiles back. 

All he feels is happiness as he looks at his brother and says, “I’m glad you’re here too.”

 

One Day Later - October 5th, 2004 [3:00pm]

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asks, hesitation seeping through his voice, running through his veins. Sam looks over at him, he fingers pausing before dog-earing his page. 

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam puts his book down as if he knows that this is a conversation that needs his full attention. Dean takes a deep breath. 

“I have to tell you something.” He confesses, ringing his hands slowly as he sits down on the couch. Sam takes this as an invitation to sit next to him. 

“Yeah?” Sam prods, Dean takes another deep breath, Sam looks at him, almost scared. Dean wants to reach out, to hold his hand and comfort him. He doesn't. 

“I lied earlier when I told you about my friend Charlie.” Sam looks at him, confused. A moment of silence passes between them before asks, 

“Why?”

“I don’t really like talking about it, not even to myself. I don’t like thinking about it even. I don’t like talking about it because then I have to admit it.” Sam’s eyebrows are raised and furrowed. He’s the first one to reach out, to place a tentative hand on his knee. Dean glances at it, the warmth it gives him is comforting. He doesn’t want it to leave. 

“Admit what?” Sam asks, and Dean is thankful for Sam helping him lead the conversation, without him this would be going nowhere. 

“That I killed her, I killed her Sammy. I killed my best friend.” The words finally come out of Dean’s mouth, words that he hadn’t even thought since it happened. 

“What happened?” Sam asks, Dean takes a moment before he can say anything, a moment before he can let the story fall out of his mouth. 

“We had been friends for awhile, long enough that I felt comfortable telling her the truth, you know, about the life that we live. She took it surprisingly well, even wanted to come along for a hunt. I didn’t let her of course, not for the few first times she asked. Then after the sixth or seventh time, I finally gave in. The hunt was small, a ghost that was freaking some family out a little. I decided to bring her along, maybe scare her a little so she wouldn’t want to come on another one. We got there, she was having the time of her life, until I figured out there were more than just ghosts in the house, demon energy had been hiding in the walls, one of them had possessed the father. The hunt was almost over and no one had gotten hurt, or died. The worst damage was a few broken windows and cracked paint on the walls. During the exorcism, Charlie got possessed. I tried to save her, I did. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I don’t even know if it was the right one. But I had to kill her. I had to.” All the words come out of his mouth like a waterfall, all that has been floating around in his mind for almost a year comes riding out, cascading down his tongue and falling out his shoulder. He sighs, not wanting to look at Sam, he doesn’t want to see the look on his little brother’s face, doesn’t want to see the disappointment. 

“Oh Dean, my Dean.” Sam finally says, reaching out to him. He hesitates slightly as if scared that what he’s doing is wrong. Dean knows the feeling. Sam finally pushes past that feeling and touches Dean's cheek. His hand soft and sweaty, but Dean doesn’t want it to leave. 

“I had to.” Dean repeats as if trying to justify. 

“Yes you did, you had to. It was a good choice. Sometimes they are too far gone. I am sure that was the case. You have to do what you need to do. You are so brave, my beautiful, beautiful brother.” Sam says, moving so that he is closer to Dean. So close that their thighs are fully pressed against each other and Sam’s hands against each of Dean’s cheek. Dean manages a small smile, feeling lifted at Sam’s words. Sam smiles back, and for a moment Dean thinks that Sam is about to kiss him. And for a second he wonders if he would stop him. Instead, Sam leans his forehead against Dean’s. They stayed like that for longer than any two grown men, let alone brothers, should. But at that moment none of that shit mattered. It didn’t matter that if someone walked in they would think they were doing something horrid. It doesn’t matter that Dean doesn’t know if he would stop Sam from doing something like that to him. 

And it scared the shit out of him, but right now none of that mattered. 

Five Hours Later - October 5th, 2004 [8:00pm]

“Dad?” Dean asks, hesitantly. He can hear his dad breathing on the other side, the soft steady breaths of a man on a mission. 

“Yes, Dean?” His voice is tired and Dean almost hangs up, not wanting to bother his dad. But he doesn’t. 

“Sam’s here. He’s at the motel with me.” Dean says, his voice trembling. He grips his beer, looking at the bottom of the bottle. He wonders if he could drown in there. 

“Oh.” John almost sounds hurt, like Dean was betraying him for being with Sam. 

“He came by to talk to me.” Dean explains, taking a sip from the bottle he was supposed to drown in. He holds in a sigh. 

“What about?” 

“Nothing really. I guess he just missed me.” Dean looks down at the floor, he can make out the spot where the floorboards part. The spot where a journal full of entries and drawings hide. John clears his throat. 

“Well he’s not alone in that, buddy. Maybe I should come visit.” Something similar to an electric bolt courses it was through Dean’s body... Did John just say he missed him?

“He’s leaving soon.” He tears his eyes off the floor, looking at the wall instead. 

“Oh, another time then. He’ll visit again, right?” Dean furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why John is all of the sudden so intent on seeing Sam. 

“Probably. I don’t know.”

“Next time, next time we will resolve everything.” There’s hope hiding in John's voice as if he knows that it isn't likely to happen but wants it to with every bone in his body. 

“Why don’t I just give the phone to him?” He suggests, knowing for some reason that John will decline. Sam isn’t even here, he’s out getting them dinner. 

“No, better not. I have to go anyway. I am having drinks with Bobby.” A loud noise escapes from the other line, and Dean can hear cars rushing by. He wonders where his dad is, and how long he has been there. He hasn’t seen him in person for months. 

“Say hi for us then.” 

“I will. Goodbye Dean.” John says, his voice rushed and quiet. There’s the instant thought that something could be wrong, something could be chasing him or hunting him down. But his dad would tell him, he’s never been one to keep things a secret. 

“Bye, Dad.” Dean responds, hanging up and putting his phone in his pocket. He drinks the rest of his beer, letting himself drown. 

 

Four Days Later - October 9th, 2004 [11:00pm]

Sam had been gone all day at the library, he told Dean that he was studying and for some reason couldn’t do it at the motel. Dean didn’t question or whine about it, he had missed his much needed alone time. 

Dean sat down on Sam’s bed, sometimes among all these days Sam had been staying here, Dean had become accustomed to him being around all the time. Dean got up, awkwardly walking over to his computer. He grabbed it, almost embarrassed and sat back down on Sam’s bed. Dean had no idea why he was sitting on his little brother's bed while typing in the link for a porn website, but it seemed wrong to be anywhere else. 

He scrolled through the videos, chewing on his bottom lip. Everything seems like the wrong choice and nothing seemed to fit his current mood. Dean looked through the categories, there is girl on girl (which is something he usually watches), anal, bondage, foot kink (ew), masturbation, and guy on guy. It takes him a moment to decide, he has varying interests for the different moods he is in. 

He finally clicks on the anal link, leading him to around two hundred different videos. Dean has never really watched anything like this before, he usually sticks to the more tame things, but today, this feels right. 

Dean finds a video that looks interesting enough. With some resistance he clicks on it, watching it load with anxiety in his stomach. It starts with a loud moan from the female, the man stands behind her, going at her doggy style. You can’t see his face, which seems to be a pattern in the porn he watches. It’s all targeted towards the male watcher, and for a moment this makes him feel bad. 

Dean stops thinking about that as he feels himself growing harder in his pants, the video getting more intense, moans now coming from both the male and female. He unbuttons his pants, sliding them a couple inches down his legs. His hand dips under his briefs, wrapping around himself. 

He waits a few moments before moving it. Dean watches the way the man moves his hips, slamming into the women so hard soft like moans escape her mouth with every thrust. He watches the man’s hands on her back, the way his veins stick out and the red marks they leave on her skin. He watches what he can see of this guys dick, long, thick, red, sliding in and out of her like it’s his job. And then Dean has to remind himself that it is actually this guys job and he is a professional. 

Dean is so out of it, the pleasure rising to a high in his stomach that he can’t hear a car door shut outside. He’s so close, his eyes glazing over and his hand cramping that he doesn’t hear the heavy footsteps outside the door. Dean is about to come, and hard when the door opens. 

Sam hears him before he see’s him. As he is setting down his bag on one of the dining room chairs, he hears a large grunt from their bedroom. He suspects that Dean is sleeping, he has always made weird noises in his sleep. Sam walks towards the room with caution, not wanting to wake Dean up from sleep. 

Sam reaches for the door handle, his long fingers wrapping around the metal knob. Another moan came from the other side of the door, sending a weird feeling cascading through his body. He pushed the door open anyway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. 

It’s too late by the time Dean sees the light filtering into the dark room. His hand is still wrapped around himself, the video already ended. Dean opens his eyes and sees Sam standing, wide-eyed, in the doorway. Sam’s mouth drops open, he tries to turn away, but something holds him back. Dean looks at him, utterly confused, and then he cums. 

Dean Winchester cums looking into his little brother's eyes. 

 

Two Days Later - October 12th, 2004 [5:00pm]

Sam sits silently, picking at his food. Things had been quiet since Sam had walked in on Dean the other day. He looks up at Dean, a sad look in his eyes. 

“You know, we really shouldn’t let this get in the way of my last night here.” Sam says, gripping tightly onto his fork. Dean looks up at him, his cheeks flushed. 

“Okay.” Dean says, forcing the words out of his mouth. He gulps. 

“I’m gonna miss hanging around you.” Sam says after a moment, his voice low in his throat as he looks up at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean stares back at him. 

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Dean answers, his voice as quiet as Sams. 

“Foods good.” Sam replies, trying to avoid talking about what he really wants to talk about. After that night Sam had been riled up and utterly confused. His whole body ached whenever he held eye contact with his brother. 

“It’s leftover take out, Sammy.” Dean says. 

“Still good.” He responds, shrugging. He takes another serving, piling it onto his plate. Sam looks up to see that Dean is looking at him with amusement. 

“Yeah, still good.” Dean nods. There’s a small smile on Dean’s face. A small smile that triggers something within Sam. Something clicks and all the feelings Sam once had for his brother comes flooding back. He closes his eyes tight for a moment, trying to hold it all down. 

“You good?” Dean asks when Sam doesn’t open his eyes. 

“Yeah. I’m just trying to remember this.” Sam answers when he opens up his eyes again. Dean’s looking right at him. 

“C’mon jerk.” Dean says, but he’s not smiling. There’s a look of sadness on his face. 

“Bitch.” Sam replies, but he’s not smiling either. They stare at each other for a while, a look of despair mixed with happiness. Dean speaks again. 

“You almost done?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I’m done.” Sam says, looking into his brother’s eyes. Something in Sam’s voice makes those words seem more meaningful than they are probably meant to be. Dean tries to shake it off. 

“Me too.” Dean responds, nodding his head.


End file.
